


Tumbler Prompt Chronicles

by TheFlamingNymph



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Drinking, Drunk kiss, Estranged Siblings, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gambling, Gen, Insomnia, Kissing, Kittens, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, Malnutrition, Protective Siblings, Reunion, Running Away, Siblings, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 00:38:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4458647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFlamingNymph/pseuds/TheFlamingNymph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Submissions to various prompts I recieve on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "It's not a mistake you make twice." Trevelyan x Blackwall

**Author's Note:**

> I take prompts on Tumblr: theflamingnymph.tumblr.com

“It’s not a mistake you make twice.” Callista managed with a straight face, lasting a scant second or two longer before her twitching lips gave way to a grin and she started laughing, her arms crossed as she leaned against the nearest beam took in the sight of Blackwall.

She had procured a growler of ale from Cabot and sought him out at the stables, looking to unwind a little after all the stress and frustration of Adamant, but had found the stables suspiciously empty. The fire had only taken a few minutes to stoke back into a full crackle, and she had started on her first glass of ale without him, enjoying the quiet. She was lost in thought when she heard the rustle, finding him standing in such a compromising position, she thought she’d only ever hear about it in stories.

“I... Uh, my lady... I mean...”

“But you did.” She snickered, covering her mouth with her hand.

Maker’s balls, the way she was looking him over, you wouldn’t think she was a Chantry girl, let alone the Herald of Andraste. “It was a matter of honor, my lady.”

“Honor, or pride?” Her eyes finally settled on the small piece of cloth clutched to his groin to keep him from full indecency. “You know, I really should get in on these Wicked Grace games with you and Solas.” She sauntered over and kissed him, rocking up onto her tiptoes as her boldness got the better of her and her fingers deftly snatched that lone piece of cloth away from him, tossing it before he could catch her.

“My lady-- Cal!”

She laughed against his lips, pulling him towards the darkened corner that held the growler, and some shade for his decency.


	2. "A Drunk Kiss" Hawke x Merrill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt response to "A Drunk Kiss" Hawke x Merrill from pixiedurango, featuring my Diplomatic Mage Hawke, Rosalie. 
> 
> Set sometime during Act 3 when Anders gets moodier and more reclusive.

Rosalie couldn’t think through the haze of whatever Isabela had slipped into her cup enough to figure out if Anders would be more upset with her that she walked herself home alone, or that she was braving Dark Town alone, drunk, to get him to walk her home. She hadn’t meant to get drunk, but Isabela had meant to get her drunk, and so here she was, contemplating the inevitable exasperation of her lover as she clung to her staff desperately for support. With Anders spending more time at his clinic, and her not feeling comfortable after her last attempt to help him heal caused a large swatch of burned floor, Varric and Isabela had come up with the bright idea that drinks at the Hanged Man solved everything.

She made her way slowly towards the lit lanterns that marked the entrance of his clinic, almost to his door when she realized a person was leaving. A familiar looking person. She knew those pointy ears. “Merrill? What’re you doing here?” The one small, sober part of her brain shuddered at the loud whisper that was coming out of her.

“Oh, Hawke.” She whispering. “Why are we whispering?”

“I.. There are... I don’t know? Is he in there?” The mage peeked into the cracked door of the clinic, empty at this time of night except for Anders and... A kitten? Definately a kitten. “Merrill... He’s got a kitten.”  
“Oh, yes. Well, more kittens are scouring the alienage for scraps, and I missed getting him that tabby years ago. This one sort of... Snuck into my basket? Hawke? Why are you staring like that? Oh.” Her hands flew up to cover her mouth and tattooed chin. “Oh, I messed up, didn’t I? You don’t like cats, do you?”

He had been smiling, playing with the kitten with a loose feather from his robes, teasing it and laughing as it scrabbled after it. Oh, what a sweet sound that was, and what a sweet little elf was right in front of her. Anders wasn’t even nice to her half of the time, and yet, here she was in Dark Town in the middle of the night, giving him a kitten, because she hadn’t given him one earlier.

“Hawke? Of course you don’t like cats... You have that gigantic dog and...” She tried to step closer to the elf, her staff slipping from her grip as she lurched on unsteady legs, clattering loudly against the door, catching herself by twining her fingers into Merrill’s bandana.

“He’s smiling, Merrill.” She was still trying to whisper for some Maker-knows-why reason. “Laughing. Oh, you glorious little mage, you.” She yanked her forward and kissed the other woman full on the mouth, because she couldn’t remember the proper response for this kind of happiness and excitement, and why the hell not?

“Uh, love... Not that this is a sight most men would frown at...”


	3. "A Reunion Kiss" Tabris x Zevran

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt response to "A Reunion Kiss" with a pairing of my choosing, by jupiterandorpheus. 
> 
> So I chose my Female Rogue Tabris, Fiora, and Zevran.

The slip of a dagger lightly against his back sent a thrill of danger through him, though he couldn’t turn his head enough to see clearly who it was. “Ah, is this how I am to perish, then?” He asked, his tone playfully light as always, taking in the crowd around them. At least they had sent someone with a little more skill than the others, he would let that feed his ego. “A quiet dagger in the back, and you gone before I fall?”

“Well, I would prefer to take you with me, seeing as my Antivan is shoddy at best. But, knowing you, it’s more likely a bunch of lewd phrases you taught me for a laugh.” Well then, a quick change of fortune indeed. He had barely twisted around to face his would-be assassin before her lips met his, a fist of blond hair firmly in her grasp, the knife still at his back. It was as spirited and passionate as the woman in front of her, and just as indomitable. So many things were said in such a kiss, payment for lost kisses, promises of more. All he could do was ride it out until eventually they peeled apart and settled back, the dagger disappearing as deftly as it had appeared. He couldn’t help the slow sprawl of his smile as she pulled away, her brash and bold grin a sight that had been absent for far too long.

“Why would I ever do such a thing, my dear Warden?”

“Because you love hearing me say naughty things, naturally, especially in a bad Antivan accent.”


	4. "Will you catch me?" Trevelyan Sister Fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Answer to prompt "Will you catch me?" for jupiterandorpheus 
> 
> Featuring Callista and Aurelia Trevelyan, who in my headcanon are sisters, the only difference is who becomes Inquisitor.

Callista felt numb as she looked at the report in her hand, written in Cullen’s script, detailing the state the Inquisition’s Templars had found the Ostwick Circle to be in. She had read it three times already, as if she’d find some hidden line mentioning something of the mages that were supposed to be there.

“Will you catch me?” The words had been said in a different time, a different age, where things had been simpler, but hadn’t seemed that way at the time. Callista had just celebrated her eighteenth name day, and with that her mother had casually dropped on her their intention that within a years time she was to begin instruction at the local Chantry, as an initiate or a Templar recruit. She was officially the third child of the Trevelyans, as no one except Callista and Lord Trevelyan seemed to consider Aurelia anymore. As a third child, or even the fourth as she actually was, she was subject to be given to Chantry services as generations of Trevelyans had before her.

“What?”

“Let’s face it, Calli.” Aurelia had said with a sly grin, looking around their surroundings. They were in the middle of a grand festival, near the stall where Circle mages were being allowed to display the wares and services they had to offer. It was one of the rare occasions the mages were allowed outside the Circle. Callista hadn’t expected to find her sister there, but it was a great relief when she had, and it had taken a half an hour to shake her parents and other siblings to come seek her out. The Templars watching the stall were a few paces away, but not too far. “We both know you would be rubbish as a Chantry sister. You have too much spirit in you, too much fight, just like Father. So your other option is a Templar.”

“I suppose it is, but --”

“Will you catch me?” The blond woman had repeated, her grin growing wide as suddenly she was gone, swept away in a group of nobles passing by, letting the crowd be her cover, leaving her younger sister to scrabble after her in confusion. Callista’s heart was pounding, why in the world would her sister run, knowing Templars were so close? What in the world had possessed her. What an ill choice of words, she had chided herself, desperately searching for a bob of pale yellow hair. It was a tug on her braid that drew her attention to where her sister had doubled back around her. “We haven’t much time, little sister. Let us have one grand adventure before life takes us separate ways.”

“Aura, the Templars! If they notice you are gone...”

“No harrowed mage can be made Tranquil, and I will return to them as soon as we are done. Soon you’ll be sent to the Chantry for instruction, and I will be bereft of the only sister that I know. So I would like to leave you with something to remember me by.”

“If Father finds out--”

“Modest in temper, bold in deed. The Trevelyan motto, Calli. Let us be very bold in deed. Father will forgive us. Come, little Templar, will you catch me?”

Callista ran her fingers over the green dots that winged and underlined her left eye, the ‘something’ Aura had left to remember her by. They matched the blue ones her sister had gotten. They had managed to get back before the Templars ever realized they were missing.

Missing. Her sister was still missing. No one could confirm she had made it to the Conclave, and her inquiry into the Ostwick Circle had only been able to be carried out long after any remaining Circles had crumbled. Had she been swept into the desperation that had lured mages to the Venatori? Had she been cut down during the skirmishes after the Conclave?


	5. Voices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so no prompt on this one, just a reaction to all the Inquisiton Companion reaction things I keep seeing on tumblr, but with my PCs instead.

**Serafina** has never tested her voice. Instead she hums in the silent moments of her day, a secret song all to herself, for it is lost in all the sounds around her, a habit formed in the years under templar scrutiny.

 **Fiora** is more one for whistling than singing, for it has a multitude of uses. It’s pleasant music to help pass the hours of work, or clever imitations of the birds she used to see in the alienage, but more and more often it’s the only sound that follows a silent kill, a small signal of a job well done.

 **Reinette** knows all lullabies sung to her by Nan and on occasion her own mother, and even Antivan ones her sister-in-law has sung to her nephew, but never once had she found need to sing them herself. So she sits and collects them, until such a time arrives.

 **Raisha** has a voice meant more for bawdy tavern songs, mangled by drink and laughter, and joined by dozens of others until it’s not so much the words that are important, but the feelings. The deep rumble that builds camaraderie and ties together pleasant memories.

 **Rosalie** has the voice of an older sister, that knows all the kids rhymes that parents have forgotten, called forth, soft and sure, in the dark of night when little siblings try to escape from their beds.

 **Aurelia** has a mother’s voice, one that shines best when used in the care of others, whether they are children or not. It is not a voice meant to be savored by all, but headily imbibed by those who need it.

 **Callista** has a voice like a thread, having a path of it’s own, but fuller when added to the mass of others, shaping familiar verses of piety and comfort, a blanket to sooth the soul. It is just learning that it only takes one thread of yarn to create it’s own blanket, and is becoming fuller and more sure on its own.

 **Aellae** has a voice to rumble out marching songs, and songs of seiges and battles. Her voice does not sing of pretty things, or even bawdy things, but of things of violence and nessecity, and the brotherhood needed to keep the casualties low.

 **Eallie** has a pretty voice that knows the flowing history of her people as it was passed down to her, but she does not sing. Her lips remain pressed tightly shut, and they will remain that way, even as she is no longer among those that made her lose her voice.


	6. "Meet me at midnight. Alone" Trevelyan x Cullen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt response for jupiterandorpheus

_Meet me at midnight. Alone._

The note had been slipped into Cullen’s reports, and it was clearly the Inquisitor’s handwriting, even if she hadn’t signed it. He’d recognize that loopy script anywhere, with it’s tiny flourishes and embellishments. And, on the back, in a hastier scrawl with a couple inks splatters, obviously as an afterthought: _gazebo_. He pinched his nose, but couldn’t help the slow smile spreading on his face. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t come to find some of her more impulsive tendencies endearing. He’d also be lying if he said those same tendencies didn’t keep him up at night with worry while she was gone.

Though, what she could want, alone, at midnight, in the gazebo that she couldn’t get just by coming into his office and asking him, he had no clue. It bugged at him, really, because he usually had a fair guess at what was going on with her at any given point. The thought kept resurfacing between reports, wondering why she would slip him a note, why not just say it, or ask him to meet her on the battlements like she had for hundred of hastily stolen kisses?

He could hear her voice from the courtyard periodically, as she visited with Inquisition personnel, a mages spar with Dorian from the sounds of it, dealing with the aftermath of Sera throwing something from the roof. Whatever she needed to meet with him about, it didn’t seem to be affecting her day to day responsibilities around Skyhold. Indeed, the thought ate at him until he finally put the stopper in his ink well, cleaned his quill, and snuffed out the candles burning low on his desk.

She was waiting for him when he arrived in the gardens, leaned up against the railing of the gazebo, moonlight catching in her pale blonde hair. Maker’s breath, but she looked stunning for all she had to put up with in a day. She smiled when she saw him, meeting him halfway, her arms sliding in under his and under his mantle until her head rested against his breast plate. He tucked her head under his chin as he held her in silence for a moment, just enjoying the moment, taking in the small basket sitting on the small table in the gazebo.

“You needed to see me? Is everything all right?” He moved back a little to look her over, she looked healthy and whole.

“I’m quite all right, Cullen.” She smiled, leading him by the hand to where she had set up a small picnic. “You, on the other hand, have been working too hard.”

“But, your note--”

“Was an ingenious way to keep me on your mind all day, wasn’t it?” Her smile turned impish.

“If that was your aim, it was unnecessary, you are always on my mind.”


	7. "Cruel Questions" Amell x Warden Alistair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Answer to tumblr prompt from jupiterandorpheus. "Why do you ask such cruel questions?" with my Serafina Amell and a Warden Alistair.

“Why do you ask such cruel questions?”

“I honestly don’t consider asking how in the world you ended up in Kirkwall during a Qunari invasion a cruel question.” Serafina was already shaking her head at the impossible man in front of her, who was putting off the demeanor of a sulking child. She was trying not to smile, that would only encourage him, and she actually wanted an answer to this question.

“It just sort of happened... You know, without you there leading, I tend to arrive places after things have gone to rot instead of that ‘nick of time’ thing that you have.” He tried switching tactics, giving her what he considered his most charming smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Alistair, that’s not what I meant. Why were you even in the Free Marches? You were supposed to be near Highmount, looking for recruits. I know you know your maps, and don’t even try to say ‘Oh, _Highmount_? I thought you said _Sundermount_.’ Because we both know that isn’t true.” She wiped a hand over her face. Oh, she loved this man, but sometimes, just once, a straight answer would be nice.

“Well, there was a recruit--”

Her heavy sigh cut him off. “Stroud’s recruit. Who after three years, isn’t a recruit. How did you end up in Kirkwall, with one of Stroud’s people, in Kirkwall, during a Qunari invasion, when you were supposed to be in Ferelden?” She bobbed her head in time with the words, slowing down and stressing them, as you would when talking to a child.

“You let me lead the group. I told you bad things happen when I lead. But nooo, you didn’t believe me. You had to test it for yourself.” She could see the mischief glittering in his eyes, and how clever he thought he was, bringing up an obscure conversation from years ago.

“Maker’s breath, Alistair, I’m going to set you on fire. I’m really going to do it this time.”

“At least we didn’t end up stranded without pants. I’d say it was a successful trip.”

“Alistair...”

“Have I mentioned I missed you?”

“Alistair.”

“And that you look stunning with your hair longer like that?”

“Flattery isn’t--”

“It’s not flattery when it’s--”

She could feel his grin against her lips as she finally just grabbed him by both wonderfully dimpled cheeks and kissed him. The chuckle that rumbled deep within him told her everything she needed to know. His willful ignorance to her questioning just a ruse to frustrate her into what he really wanted. She supposed she could question him and do her duties as Warden-Commander later, because she was a woman before she was a Warden, and that woman had really missed this man.


	8. "I'm Scared of Mornings" Trevelyan x Blackwall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt response to pixiedurango: "I'm scared of mornings" featuring a pairing of my choice. Callista and Blackwall this time, set a couple years after Inquisition ends. Callista decides to follow suit of Cullen and quit lyrium.
> 
> Could be triggering, so proceed with caution.

It had seemed so simple when she had suggested the idea to him just months ago. She had used her clever words to convince him, and perhaps herself too, and had handed him the little box that was always somewhere with her. She told him to destroy it, make sure nothing could be salvaged, and now he wished he hadn’t listened to his lady this time. This woman in front of him wasn’t the woman that recruited him those years ago in the Hinterlands. That woman hadn’t feared anything, it seemed.

It was too clear of a memory to remember her facing the minions of a massive Nightmare demon. She had strode forward, first of their party of six. She moved first before the seasoned soldiers like himself and the Warden, before the battle-scarred Hawke, before the cocky mage with all his resourcefulness, before the Red Jenny with her arrows always at the ready. She moved first, her sword ringing against her shield with a rush of power and ozone as she dispelled any magic that may have been lingering in the area. Her sword plunging down into the fade-earth and causing their blades to glow blue as they finally joined her in battle.

That could not be the woman before him now, gasping down her breaths as if she might drown, her hands wringing together in a futile attempt to warm them. Each breath seemed to rattle within her, threatening to shake her thin frame apart. She hadn’t had much extra to her to lose, and he noticed far too late. Her skin stretched across her bones like too little canvas over too many tent poles. Her chest rose and fell erratically, her eyes darting around the room as she tried to stave off the encroaching panic. The scars of her face were stark white against her olive complexion that had become ashen.

“I’m scared of mornings.” She had admitted to him the first time he woke to find her in one of these attacks, her eyes bright with unshed tears and unmitigated fear. “I wake, and I’ve lost more of myself. What happens when this is all said and done, if there is nothing left of me? What good is this if I lose myself along the way? If I lose you?” He hadn’t been able to do anything but hold her as she shook, because he didn’t know what he could say. He wanted to tell her that wouldn’t happen, but he wasn’t sure. This confession had come just a week after she had forgotten his name, that she called him Thom now, and not Blackwall. She had tried to laugh it off as a slip of the tongue.

“Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure. What you have created, no one can tear asunder.”

His heart broke at the desperate edge in her voice, sharp and jagged, poised to cut deep. It was such a drastic change from the assured and quiet tone she had used just months ago when she said her morning verses. Before they had been familiar passages, a morning routine, now they were desperate pleas, supplication to a Maker she believed in so readily.

“Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker’s Light and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.” She was knelt down on the cold stone of her floor, head bent as she recited the prayers, her hands clasped tightly together.

This was her third night without sleep, and he wondered how long she could go before her body failed. He and Cullen had almost come to blows over it more than once, the Commander insisting that sitting idle would do nothing for her except give her more time to think on lyrium and crave it, while Blackwall raged back that working herself to death would just defeat the purpose. Aurelia was the one that had to convince both her husband and Blackwall that ultimately it was Callista’s decision whether she took time away from being Inquisitor or continued to work, and that their jobs were to make it easier for her either way.

Easy for them to say, he thought, they didn’t have to watch the terror that faced her in the night. That she faced alone, because if she even suspected he was awake, she’d start suffering in silence, because she was determined to act like everything was fine. When she knew he was watching, she forced a smile onto her face, and kept her hands clasped so he wouldn’t see them shake, found clever ways to keep them from his touch so he couldn’t feel how cold they were. She acted like water was enough to quench her thirst, and ate enough to try and soothe his worry. Sera had caught her out back of the tavern bringing it all back up later, though, and even the rogue had run out of jokes to try and comfort his worry.

“I can’t do this.” She sobbed out, more broken than he had ever heard her before. Her whole body shook with the force of it, slumped with her head to the stone. “I can’t... I can’t..”


	9. "Damn. You clean up good." Hawke x Fenris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt response to blackwallismybear's prompt: "Damn. You clean up good." featuring Raisha Hawke and Fenris. Set post DA2, Hawke's tired of the sassy noble's making snide comments about her relationship with Fenris. She decides he should join her for a function.

“He, uh, he seems displeased, Mistress.” Orana’s voice wobbled as she tried to pick her words carefully, her thin and nimble fingers working quickly through her mistress’ hair. She really was a Maker sent blessing, Raisha thought, because she sure didn’t know how to do her own hair, she hadn’t even complained about the knotted mess everything had been.

“He does, doesn’t he?” She could hear Fenris fussing in the other room, unable to make out the words, but she was sure they weren’t painting her in a favorable light at the moment.

“Mistress... Are you amused?”

“Oh, yes I am.” She grinned as she examined her hair, patting the tight braids that guided her hair into a tumble over one of her shoulders. Another boring gathering of the nobles, and she was required to attend, being the Viscount and all. She’d tried to be civil about the whole matter from the start, allowing Fenris to stay well away from them, as no doubt both parties preferred. One snide comment from a noble the last time, about how at least the Viscount had the sense to leave her guard dog love toy at home. Well, nobody insulted Fenris and got away with it.

She made sure everything was in place with her own attire, a dress that Isabela had had more than a little say in, thus the tight corset and a nice gash up to her thigh, but not high enough to reveal the knife strapped there. She went to check on Fenris once she was satisfied everything was where it was supposed to be.

“Damn. You clean up good.”

“Hawke, is this really necessary?” He was using her name in that indulgent way he had, which is to say, to use that thrice-damned voice of his to cloud her thoughts. She was sure he didn’t think much on how he used her name, but she sure did.

“I’m regretting not doing this sooner.” She grinned, her nose scrunching as she looked him over, ogled really, maybe drooled. She never professed to be a strong willed woman where her warrior elf was concerned. She ran a hand over the soft deep red fabric of his tunic and how it looked compared to his dusky complexion. “And I thought you were dangerous with your armor on.”

She was pleased to note he was similarly distracted by her dress as she was to him in formal clothing. Perhaps they wouldn’t make it to the gathering after all.


End file.
